


They Call Me Mellow Yellow ('Cause It's Not Easy Being Green)

by intangible_girl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, because why not, doping up the hulk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intangible_girl/pseuds/intangible_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay, so, the problem is you get angry, you turn into the Hulk. Seems like you’ve got a pretty good handle on not turning when you don’t want to, so, that’s all good, but what about turning back? That seems more or less up to whenever the big guy’s decided he’s had enough, which could potentially be longer than we really need him for, am I right?"</p>
<p>Bruce frowned.</p>
<p>"And your idea on that is… weed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Call Me Mellow Yellow ('Cause It's Not Easy Being Green)

**Author's Note:**

> This is based loosely on a prompt from avengerkink. So loosely I won't even provide the link. But the idea of dosing up the Hulk with weed was not my own.
> 
> (No Hulks were actually given weed in the making of this fic.)

“Bruce, Bruce, I just had this amazing idea, you have to help me out.”

It was like they’d just had a lull in a conversation and Tony was picking it back up after a few minutes of silence. Only Bruce had made it halfway around the world in the time since he’d last seen Tony Stark. He straightened from where he was harvesting aloe vera and found Tony standing on the other side of the row of plants, wearing an amazingly expensive suit and bright red sneakers. He had sunglasses on and he was holding a half-empty water bottle. In his other hand was a full one, which he held out to Bruce.

“Stark, what are you doing here?” he hissed, not accepting the bottle. This was ridiculous. Being on call for saving the world from global threats he could handle, especially with SHIELD’s word that they would only shadow him to be able to find him and keep other threats from bothering him. Occasionally he could spot the agent assigned to him and he’d tip his metaphorical hat to them. Then he’d leave town. He hadn’t promised to make it easy on them.

He _definitely_ hadn’t expected to see Tony Stark walk back into his life like he’d never left.

Tony contrived to look hurt.

“Bruce, buddy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yes, ecstatic, _why are you here_?”

“I had an idea about the Hulk, and, well, you’re kind of the go-to guy on that subject.”

“So you flew out to the middle of _Africa_ just to ask me about it?”

Tony shrugged like Bruce was the one being an idiot.

“Better than _hitchhiking_ ,” he said derisively, like he knew that’s how Bruce had gotten here. Hell, he probably did. “Did you miss the part where I’m a billionaire who has his own private jet?”

Bruce laughed a tired laugh and swiped the bottle out of Stark’s hand.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. “My shift’s over in half an hour; go ask Gotiri to give you some aloe juice while you wait.”

“What, to drink?” Tony said derisively, wrinkling his nose. Bruce laughed again.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Stark,” he said, and downed the water, handing the empty bottle back to Stark. “See you in half an hour.”

He bent back down without bothering to see if Stark had more to say.

* * *

“Bruce, this stuff is disgusting.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, hanging up his shears and taking his payment for the day while Tony spluttered.

“Why’d you tell me to drink it then?”

Bruce just smiled at him, the one he knew made people nervous. Tony just stared at him, and then laughed.

“Okay, okay, you win, come on, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“You can buy me some shish kebab on the way to the clinic.”

“What, they don’t pay you enough down at the plantation?” But he followed Bruce when he walked out of the small building and down the road into town.

“I work _here_ so I don’t have to charge for my services at the clinic,” he said, shouldering his bag and pulling out a spare visor to hand to Stark. “You’re going to get horribly sunburned if you keep walking around like that,” he added.

“Yes, mom,” Stark said, though he put the visor on.

“No bodyguards?” Bruce asked conversationally, though actually the idea worried him. Stark flapped a hand dismissively.

“Happy’s got sensitive skin. Mick’s around. I didn’t want an entourage.”

Bruce made a face. He was much more inclined to be worried about the thieves than himself if anyone tried to rob him, but without the armor Stark was vulnerable. It irked him to see him treating that fact so casually.

“Bruce,” he said, as though sensing his companion’s train of thought, “Mick’s _around_. Happy’s with the car, which is also around. Don’t worry so much. I’m not a complete moron when it comes to my personal safety.”

He had watched the news footage of Tony Stark giving out his address on national television, and he thought about arguing the point. Then he dropped it. They had reached the village anyway.

Stark let him negotiate with the vendor, but Bruce let him pay. He was surprised to see Stark using the local currency, though the bills were crisp and new and had likely come straight from customs that morning. It was pleasant, anyway, to stroll through town eating meat and vegetable skewers, walking with someone he genuinely considered a friend. He had made many connections and acquaintances here, but most of them didn’t even know him by his real name. Speaking of which,

“Oh, hey, no using my last name, okay? I just go by Bruce, here.”

Stark raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. When they got to the clinic he introduced Stark as simply ‘Tony, my American friend,’ and though Matsisi gave the newcomer a shrewd once over, she did not comment either.

“Bruce,” she said, once she’d had decided the newcomer was safe to ignore, “Yolanda is back again.”

“Oh, dear,” he said, smiling ruefully at Matsisi, the enormous old woman who seemed to live, rather than merely work, at the clinic and who was teaching Bruce midwifery in exchange for being taught Western methods of medicine. “What terrible illness does she have this time?”

“Today it’s malaria, tomorrow it will be Ebola, Bruce you can’t keep agreeing to see her. She takes up your valuable time that could be better spent on people that are actually sick.”

“She’s lonely. I can spare a few minutes talking to her if it makes her feel better.”

Matsisi rolled her eyes at Tony.

“Tell her your American friend is a famous doctor who can cure anything. Let him talk to her. Goromonji is also here, and so is Michael. Michael’s leg is getting worse, not better, and he says it pains him in his hip now, as well.”

Bruce frowned. Tony was wearing that polite look people wore when they were necessarily excluded from the conversation because they couldn’t speak the language. He nodded sagely at Matsisi when Bruce frowned.

“Yeah, I think so too, lady. The Yankees are definitely not doing themselves any favors trading away—”

“Want to play doctor, Tony?” he interrupted, because Matsisi could speak English and while he would love to watch her troll him knowing that, Michael had to be seen to, and she needed to get to Goromonji. “We have a serial hypochondriac. She speaks a little English. Just smile and nod at whatever she tells you and give her some sugar water.”

Tony nodded solemnly, and Bruce let Matsisi lead him away to the room where Yolanda was. A well-dressed man appeared in the doorway, looking coolly at Bruce.

“Mick?” he asked, washing his hands, and the man nodded once. “He’s in back. He could use a nursing assistant.”

Mick looked alarmed before bolting for the back room. Bruce chuckled, and then set his face before looking in on Michael, who at ten years old had recently become the main provider of his household, and could not afford to lose his leg.

It was very late at night before Tony, Bruce and Mick made their weary way to Bruce’s small room above a butcher shop.

“Bruce, you are wasted here,” Tony said, collapsing onto the floor. His suit was dusty and one shoulder was covered in mucus and spit up from when he’d held Teresa’s baby while Bruce, under Matsisi’s watchful eye, checked to make sure her tears were healing properly. Mick looked vaguely traumatized, and all he’d had to do was get Yolanda to go home and not stay and pine after the great American doctor who had cured her of malaria _and_ sleeping sickness.

“Tony,” Bruce said warningly, because they’d already had this conversation, all the way back in New York, and he was far too tired to have it again.

“Fine, fine, anyway, my idea.”

Bruce pulled out three cracked cups from the cupboard and poured them all some coconut milk while Tony told Mick to go stand outside and plug his ears. Bruce handed him his share of the milk with a sympathetic smile. Mick did as he was told, chugging the milk in one gulp before he left. Bruce settled down on the one chair and folded his hands on the table.

“Your idea.”

“My idea. Is.” Tony swallowed a mouthful of coconut milk and smacked his lips heartily. “Weed.”

Bruce waited patiently for the rest.

“Weed,” he prompted. Tony nodded, shook himself. Seemed to wake up.

“Weed. Okay, so, the problem is you get angry, you turn into the Hulk. Seems like you’ve got a pretty good handle on not turning when you don’t want to, so, that’s all good, but what about turning back? That seems more or less up to whenever the big guy’s decided he’s had enough, which. That could potentially be longer than we really need him for, am I right?”

Bruce nodded, brow furrowed. It was a problem he hadn’t thought about in too much depth back when not letting the other guy out at all was the main idea. Now that there could potentially be circumstances where he might have to unleash him on purpose, it seemed reasonable to make sure there was a way to get him back inside more or less on cue.

“And your idea on that is… weed,” he said, his hope that he was mistaken in his assumption plain in his voice.

“Yup,” Stark said cheerfully, dashing that hope.

“No,” he said, because that was completely ridiculous, on par with mellow jazz and bongo drums, and the mere suggestion was an insult and a waste of his time. His displeasure must have shown on his face, because Stark was scrambling to his feet, face earnest.

“Come on, hear me out, I didn’t fly around the world for some half-assed idea. I’ve been thinking about this. Look, the Hulk reacts to your emotions, right? He only comes out when you’re angry, or scared, or in pain. Right?”

He nodded tightly, because at least he could hear the man out before he shoved him out the door. Stark went on, hands waving wider and wider as he warmed to his idea.

“And I heard about what you did with Sterns, but frankly, my money’s more on your girl getting in your face than that idiot’s cocktail of drugs.” Bruce blinked, because he had no idea how Stark might have known about that, but the man was speaking too fast for him to ask. “Not to mention, who wants to try to stick the Hulk with a needle when he’s still pissed off. Not a good life choice for most people, I think. So I was thinking we could work more on the emotional side of things, see if calming him down makes him go back inside. But obviously just talking about his feelings isn’t going to be enough, so what if we _make_ him calm? So. Weed. Or something, it doesn’t have to be marijuana, but something to give him the mellow yellows and give you a chance to Bruce-out.”

Bruce’s brain, the traitor, ran through the data and found Stark’s hypothesis sound. A nightmare to actually test, but a good working theory. But. Well.

“No,” he said again, and then spoke over Stark’s protests. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a terrible idea, there’s just no way to safely test that.”

“But we could—”

“I’m not going to let the other guy out just so you can dope him up and see if that works.”

“But I have a—”

“No. My answer is final. It’s a nice idea, but that’s all it is.”

“But—”

“Goodnight, Stark.”

He went to the bedroom without looking back, because if he didn’t get out of Stark’s presence right then he was going to have a chance to test his theory a lot sooner than they both wanted.

The front door closed a minute later and Bruce finally relaxed.

* * *

When he showed up at the clinic the next day, he found Stark there, along with about a dozen men in lab coats and a few more in suits, all talking on cell phones. Matsisi waddled out to greet him, face radiant.

“Bruce, you didn’t tell me your friend was Tony _Stark_ ,” she said, taking his hand and leading him deeper inside. He let her, bewildered. Tony didn’t acknowledge him as he passed, though he was sure he had noticed his presence. “He’s giving us an _incubator_ , Bruce! And men that know how to work it. He’s also going to renovate the building, and bring in medical supplies, and doctors from America, and a sonogram machine and so many other things. Oh, Bruce, it’s wonderful!”

She had tears in her eyes, and he hugged her back when she reeled him in and squeezed. Matsisi had lost three children of her own to complications during childbirth, and she took it personally every time a child or a mother died. Stark’s improvements would certainly be welcome. Still…

“Mati, I have to go speak with Tony,” he said, disentangling himself. She swiped at her eyes and shooed him away, clearly needing a moment anyway. Bruce found him arguing with someone over a set of architectural blueprints, and he folded his arms and glared at him until he turned and acknowledged him.

“Hm?” Stark said, like Bruce was interrupting him.

“I don’t appreciate being bribed,” he said darkly, and Tony had the gall to look offended.

“I’ll have you know Mati and I have bonded over a mutual love of babies and good scotch. This is for her. I could care less what _you_ do about it.”

Bruce ground his teeth.

“I’m not letting you dope up the Hulk,” he said in a low voice that didn’t carry past the two of them.

“You made that very clear,” Tony said calmly in a voice pitched as low as Bruce’s.

“Then what’s all this about?”

“I told you.”

When Bruce gave him a skeptical look, Tony caved.

“Alright, you’ve caught me. Here’s my secret.” He looked around the room in an exaggerated fashion, and then leaned in and whispered in Bruce’s ear,

“My arc reactor? It’s main component is made of vibranium.”

Bruce reared back.

“What the hell does—”

“Wakanda,” Stark went on, “just so happens to be the only place in the entire world where vibranium has ever been found, and guess what? They apparently have _more_. Now, this piece, right here,” he tapped his chest, “I made myself, but I certainly wouldn’t mind getting my hands on the natural stuff. Not to mention I have something of a vested interest in making sure _no one else_ does, yeah?”

He leaned back to study Bruce, who was still glaring.

“So you were going to come here anyway?” he accused. “Seeing me was just a convenient excuse?”

“Hell, no,” Stark said, swatting at a mosquito that was orbiting his head. “I hate Africa, the bugs here are a natural disaster. But,” he shrugged, “I’ve been meaning to get an in here somehow, and now I have one. Two birds, one stone, that kind of thing. And since I couldn’t kill your bird, at least I can come home with this one. Pep’s going to be so pleased.”

Bruce noted the flash of disappointment that uncurled inside him, and then dismissed it.

“Well, congratulations,” he said, more bitterly than he’d meant. “Matsisi will be very happy.” He turned to walk away, but Tony put out a hand.

“Bruce,” he said conciliatorily, “I’m sorry, look, I wanted to see you, and I had this idea, and maybe this whole operation is sort of to make you see reason, though it’s not like I’m gonna pull it all back if you say no. Just… think about it? Please? I know you hate letting him out, but I was going to tell you last night, I have a safe place for it.”

“A safe place to let him out?” Bruce scoffed, turning back around so he was facing Stark again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Honest to goodness,” Stark said, raising his hand like he was testifying in court. “I know a place, a good place. He might even like it there, who knows. Just. If you decide you want to. I’ll be around for a few more days, but I’m apparently having dinner with the king on Friday, so don’t take too long to make up your mind, okay?”

Bruce blinked at the casual mention of royalty, and then made himself remember who he was talking to. He sighed, shaking his head.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, and ignored the way Tony’s resulting smile made him feel warm inside.

“I’ll send you the data I have later,” he promised.

“You have data?” Bruce said, eyebrows raising.

“Of course. What do you think I am, some kind of… Don’t answer that, go tend babies or whatever, I have stuff to do.”

He waved Bruce off, leaving him feeling off-kilter, as one often did when dealing with Tony Stark. He stared after him for a moment, and then went to find Matsisi again, trying to remember everything he knew about how marijuana worked.

* * *

“When you said desolate wilderness, Stark, New Mexico was not what I had in mind.”

“Have you ever been to New Mexico? There’s nothing there.”

“Albuquerque is a pretty big city.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing we’re not going to Albuquerque, isn't it?”

Bruce sighed and looked out the window of Stark’s private jet. He wondered what it said about him that sometimes Stark made him miss Brazil. He’d been sort of miserable there, but at least the people who were likely to show up and try to spirit him away he could simply run away from, no questions asked. He was realizing now that he had assumed, in the back of his head, that once Stark dropped him off at the airport with a ticket under an assumed name, that would be that. He would be alone again, Stark just another person he had left behind, his future gaping empty in front of him.

He hadn’t expected the man to pick up the severed strands of their connection and reforge them through sheer strength of will and limitless resources. He still wasn’t sure how Stark had even known where he was. The sense of gratitude tangled up in obligation he felt every time he thought of the brand new incubator, to be followed by other wonders, made him feel a little claustrophobic. He’d been alone too long, he realized. He didn’t know how not to be anymore.

“There,” Stark said, pointing out the window, breaking him from his thoughts. He peered out at the wide ground below, a flat, featureless yellow-brown from this height. “See? No one around for hundreds of miles. He won’t hurt anyone even if he wants to, and we won’t lose track of him.”

“I’m still not convinced this isn’t going to end badly,” Bruce said darkly, but Stark only laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“One thing I know for sure, big guy, it’s that your other half likes me. And I am a veritable snake charmer that can convince anyone to do anything, but heaven help the poor bastards that actually like me.”

_Heaven help us, indeed_ , Bruce thought, looking out the window again. In his hindbrain he felt the other guy stir approvingly. He had liked Alaska, liked galloping and leaping across wide open spaces, and the pictures Bruce was showing him of rock formations and endless flat plains pleased him. The truth was, it would be nice to have an emergency de-Hulkifying agent, but it was not necessary. Not as much as it used to be. He’d accepted the Hulk, and then the Hulk had accepted him, and that was how Bruce had understood that he was as much a burden on the other guy as the other guy was on him. Realizing that he wasn’t stuck with the Hulk so much as they were stuck with each other had created a camaraderie that he hadn’t even been able to conceive of five years ago.

So why was he here?

_Metal Man talk too much_ , Hulk said in the back of Bruce’s brain, interrupting his brooding, and, yes, there it was. Bruce glanced at Tony, who was talking a mile a minute about the desert and the equipment and the amount of trouble he’d gone through to procure Hulk-sized doses of marijuana, and felt a wry smile steal over his face.

_Yes, Tony can be very persuasive, can’t he?_

Hulk gave a mental grunt, and turned his mind forward, wondering what it would feel like to be on drugs, if being the Hulk already felt like being on drugs to puny Banner. _Drugs squared?_ he mused, and Bruce hid a chuckle. Tony, thinking Bruce was laughing at something he’d said, gave him a bright, quick smile like a flash of gunpowder, and Bruce knew then that however much he might argue, he would accept whatever excuse Tony would provide to convince him to stay with him this time.

Hulk agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written well before Iron Man 3, but it fit in rather seamlessly with only a few minor modifications. I like to imagine this is how Tony got Bruce to come back with him for the after credits scene, but I could be wrong.
> 
> Don't do drugs.


End file.
